


When A Letter Arrives On Thursday

by OpalEyes2112



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Protective Crowley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-07-24 23:50:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20023057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalEyes2112/pseuds/OpalEyes2112
Summary: The Delivery Man has finished returning the four rather unusual items to their even more unusual destination  and returned home when he gets a new package; a letter that is urgently requested to arrive in a town all the way in the US by the following the Thursday.Meanwhile in Post-AlmostArmageddon Britain, Crowley and Aziraphale are celebrating their new life together with Crowley's plants being even more overjoyed than they are. Anathema and Newt get a new flat together in London and the invitations to the wedding of Sergeant Shadwell and Madame Tracy have been sent.Thank Someone the wedding is not on the same day as the one noted in the letter.





	1. Prologue

Prologue

It had taken the Delivery Man several days to deliver the items to the destination. If someone had told him just the month before that he'd consider his job interesting, or more aptly put, strange, he'd have told that he'd never think that in a million years. For some reason humans tend to come up with a million years even though the Earth has only been around for a little longer than 6000. Maybe if he'd known the true age of the planet, the existence of an angel with more than a touch of rebellion and a demon more chaotic than the M25, and that the Anti-Christ was approaching his eleventh birthday he'd have said never in the next two weeks.

  
As it was it was very strange, but a little exciting. The items he was returning had just shown up at the storage room at the International Express, but now he was traveling all the way to a place just outside of Jerusalem to return them. Strange, but he loved traveling and was more than happy to get new ideas for holiday trips with his wife.  
Warmth spread through his chest as he remembered her smile when they made dinner together or she came across something lively and beautiful like the zebras in Zimbabwe.  
She'd like some of these places and he made sure to note the more favorable ones in a notebook.

After an hour he started to see his destination; a small, stone hut that looked more ancient than anything in England with only two chairs and a table for outdoor ornamentation. The figures lounging in the chairs were a little blurry at first, however he could see them clearly once they stood up and watched his approach with rapt attention. One appeared to be a disheveled man in a black robe wearing several bracelets of what appeared to be onyx. The other who stood two arms' length away from him was a tall, lean woman in a robe of such bright white he fought the urge to shield his eyes as he got out and brought the items to them. Both of them said "Hello, Good Day", both tore through the boxes examining the contents before signing praising his punctuality and hard work. He smiled and told them it was all in a Good Day's Work.

The woman smiled back with her eyes seemingly glowing for the barest moment and thanked him again before he got back in the van. As he adjusted the rear-view mirror he noted that they were holding up the sword looking at it with smiles more secretive than most world governments. His curiosity was chased away by the realization he was holding a First Class ticket from Jerusalem to London. Joy grew wings in his chest and he started smiling with a renewed radiance. He'd be home in time to take Maude out for dinner on Friday.

Orabas and Zerakiel waited until he was a good distance off. Orabas glanced at the Seraph who was still holding the sword with a smile that curled the lips with something like...anticipation? Or was it some other emotion? After 6000 years of working together to set things in motion he'd still had a hard time understanding God and the being next to him was just as bad.

The Seraph turned to him unfurling 6 wings that dimmed to the glow of sunlight reflecting off water as to not attract attention. Or well...too much attention.

Even 6 millennia later he couldn't help admire the design. Each feather looked like it had been perfectly crafted by pure gold until the Almighty decided that it wasn't ostentatious enough then wove constellations and dozens of eyes into each wing.

The Seraph looked up at the Prince of Hell with amusement. "If I remember correctly you'd said something about...Crowley's potential when he Fell."  
The demon chuckled at the memory. Crawley...or Crowley showed more promise than Ligur and Hastur combined. Not that he'd ever tell them...though he'd been extremely tempted. _Even if I couldn't see the future would I still be surprised by the choices he's made? Ehh maybe...if i hadn't know him in Heaven._

"Yeah...he's got style. It's a shame. Hell's going to be a lot less interesting...well maybe...." His vision shot off in the future for a while before coming back to the Present.

"Ever met Aziraphale?"

"Briefly, he's one of the younger ones among us. He's a bright angel and...mischievous. Glad he's finally doing what he wants to do."

"They know? Don't they? No rest for the wick...for well beings like us."

"Shouldn't you? You can see the future?"

"It's not so clear." Orabas sighed before deciding NOT to launch into a lecture on foresight. It was a strange ability he had and sometimes envied those who didn't have it. He muttered instead, "There's too many of them. Too many choices."

"Should someone tell them?" The Seraph sounded worried. They had a protective streak a light year wide for denizens of Heaven whether they were the rebellious kind or not.

"Nah...let them relax I mean for Someone's sake they just averted the bloody Apocalypse!"  
The Seraph still looked worried so he continued. "Besides they should have at least close to a year before shit really hits fan."


	2. On The Seventh Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First main

Aziraphale rather enjoyed this morning. He sat in his favorite chair with a cup of cocoa to watch the first rays of sunlight dance on the books and furniture. It had been a week since the AlmostArmageddon and so far the unusually hushed dawn seemed like a gift of peace. He didn't need to check his watch to know he had two hours before Crowley'd pick him up for brunch. Crowley...

His mind went back to his attempted execution. The looks on everyone's faces had been more savory than any crepe he'd had. It had been even more delightful having dinner at the Ritz with Crowley and all the times they’d spent together since.

Once they’d passed their executions unscathed the air felt lighter, warmer and he felt more relaxed than ever before. He no longer answered to the Archangels and almost just as joyous was that he’d never have to fill out the behemoth stacks of paperwork Heaven required for their reports.

No longer have to pretend, no more hiding. He sipped his cocoa while American Gods opened itself to the page he’d left off at. He figured that he would finish it by the time he could hear the Bentley.

Said Bentley was gleaming as if a dozen damned souls had been told they could either polish the car or be sent to the 7th Circle of Hell, but if they chose Option A and the car didn’t look like it’d been carved from high grade diamond they’d be sent to the 6th Circle.

Which is almost exactly what had happened. What really occurred was ten damned souls polishing it for four hours then they had been thrown into the 6th Circle.

Even though Adam had set the world to rights including his Bentley he couldn’t help but spend at least seven minutes a week fretting over the patina. _I’d worked hard for that patina and I’ll be sent to have tea with Gabriel if it’s not absolutely perfect._

He gave the car one last examination before his thoughts turned to the plants. When Angel stayed with him the night before the trials he’d tried to keep Aziraphale at a distant from the plants. And failed miserably.

The elephant ear and poinsettia had all but purred when Angel had started complimenting them, telling them how glossy their leaves were and how flawless their posture. He’d wondered if the poinsettia would develop white leaves instead of red before deciding that if that was the case he’d fake its death in front of the other plants before gifting it to Aziraphale.

Crowley sauntered past the smartly dressed receptionist, up the well-appointed stairs to the onyx door of his flat which he opened with a snap of his fingers.

The first thing he noticed were the letters shoved under the door which seemed impossible. The second thing was that the receptionist had followed him up the stairs with a sand colored box in her hands.

“Mr. Crowley!” Her face was tinged with embarrassment that she had forgotten to notify him as soon as he’d walked through the door.

He felt a tinge of annoyance quickly re-ordering reality so the envelopes were on his desk. “Yesss?”

The lady barely noticed the hiss as she presented the package to him with the label turned towards him. “It arrived very early this morning. Didn’t even know it was possible to get shipments so early. No need to sign-“.

“Hmm, thanks” He swept the box from her hands delving deeper into the flat shutting the door with another snap. Anticipation had him in a vice grip and excitement flooded him more truly than if two lightning bolts hit him simultaneously.

He savored the weight in his hands before slicing it open with a 16th century dagger (the real deal; he had bought it in Barcelona after hearing of Juan Ponce De Leon’s discovery of La Florida).

Gently he plucked the books from the container. The routes he’d taken to get these had been enticing in their difficulty and the fruit of his efforts just about glowed as he imagined Aziraphale’s expression.

His smile grew as he examined a copy of the Mabinogion that had somehow eluded avarice collectors, The Wallace, and a text that was 1968 years old describing a curious figure in Rome who would try to get the Senate and members of the imperial family to be more humanitarian.

A righteous figure whose hair turns from the finest gold to that of the conniving blood of imperial schemes. Angel’s going to love this!

Crowley’s snake eyes took them in looking for flaws as his mind ran through their times in Rome.

Caligula, Marcus Aurelius, ohhh the people they’d met and the crazy things they did at the slightest suggestion…

Somewhere on memory lane Freddie Mercury started to sing Radio Ga Ga.

“Shit!” He bolted upright glancing at his watch. He had 20 minutes to go before his appointed time with Angel. He froze time long enough to rewrap the texts and grab the poinsettia. Why risk giving it the opportunity to show off its potential white leaves instead of red in front of the others?

He had the gifts neatly arranged and considered stalling time longer. Considered it, but he was really tempted to see how the Bentley handled at 120 mph.

 _Damn right I go fast Angel_. His grin was as wide as an engorged python as he pressed willfully on the gas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter. I was pretty nervous and decided to go with my instinct on this one. I should probably warn that this is going to be a slow burn.


	3. Silk and Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley spend the day together at the beach before reading a book. Orabas makes plans with Zerakiel.

Aziraphale had just finished American Gods when he felt the waves of panic of pedestrians and demonic glee. _Dear God not again._

He reached out into the ether. He pushed into the distance until he came across the pedestrians 4 blocks away. A small group of men and women were wide eyed and their hearts pumping more furiously than usual…they were fine. Startled…by the Bentley blazing through the streets at a speed far exceeding his usual.

_Really dearest you could discorporate yourself._ Panic swelled up as shivers jolted his body. He doubted Hell would ever give Crowley a new body after the disaster they averted. What would they do? They sent him back up…

His thoughts had just begun to descend into the darker regions of Hell when he registered a chiming sound. Aziraphale almost head butted Crowley when he looked up.

“Crowley!” Warmth and relief replaced the trepidation and before he knew it he hugged Crowley so quickly they almost tumbled together to the floor.

“Angel!” Aziraphale felt the laughter vibrate in Crowley’s chest.

“Angel…” The wily serpent tried formulating a question and he could almost see the breezy joy sweep the words away. Aziraphale was about to say something about safer driving when he noticed Crowley was carrying a plant, that must’ve been deemed a danger to the greenhouse status quo, and a box with a black ribbon.

“Oh!” Crowley glanced down at the poinsettia before handing it over to him. “It’s been a little shifty lately and ahh…I think it’ll have white leaves jussst in time for Christmas. It really… took to you.”

He smiled as Aziraphale took it and as he did he could’ve sworn Crowley’s snake eyes glowed with affection. He returned that wily smile then started scanning the shop. _It’ll need sunlight, definitely not partial sun. Ahhh there we are._ He made a bee-line for the spot in front of the children’s books Adam placed in his shop when he’d reordered reality.

Aziraphale smiled as he lightly set the poinsettia down. However it wasn’t the poinsettia that was throwing fireworks in his chest; Crowley was taking in his profile in such a way that his clothes felt like pieces of paper under a magnifying glass on a sunny day. Aziraphale smirked. He kept his back turned and pretended to inspect each leaf for an inordinate amount of time. If gazes could scorch…He could almost smell cotton burning.

As he noted each vein in a particular leaf he felt a thrumming energy build up behind him. When he finally turned Crowley staring at him with a softness in his gaze that had been more apparent after their trials. Without a word he pulled Aziraphale towards him. For several moments they embraced; Crowley resting his forehead against his and caressed his curls. The sunlight filtering through the windows was turning Crowley’s hair to dark flame while his snake eyes, somehow, seemed as luminous as the sun.

“I’m gla-no more than that… I’m happy that we decided to stay, to make our stand,” Crowley whispers before sauntering away his eyes looking for something. Aziraphale noticed the parcel was still in his hand and points to the backroom.

“You can leave the box in the backroom on the desk!” He doesn’t need to ask what it contains; he’d registered the slight sound of books shuffling in it. What he really wanted to know was what kind of books. Just two days ago they’d had a midnight conversation about what types were the most entertaining. Crowley knew what he liked: prophetic books, misprinted Bibles, and numerous classics especially Shakespeare. However, he’d realized that while Crowley claimed to dislike reading he had a deep fondness for any books on astronomy and gardening in addition to any historical texts that referenced him even if they didn’t realize it.

“Where should we have brunch Angel?” Crowley’s voice was muffled as he maneuvered his way to Aziraphale’s favorite desk. The principality found himself grinning like the Chesire cat; his present for Crowley was waiting behind the chair he favored. Out of all the things that Aziraphale had a talent for the one he was currently using the most was compartmentalizing his thoughts. While one part of his mind was running through all the restaurants they’d like another part was imagining Crowley’s expression as he unwrapped the gift. He meant to savor that response.

“How about the Wolseley?” He waited until Crowley had set the books down before throwing the suggestion at him. Aziraphale could see the suggestion rolling through that clever mind for only a second.

Crowley smiled as he strode to where Aziraphale stood and took his hand. “As you wish Angel.”

\-------

The feeling he got as he watched Aziraphale bask in anything; whether it be food, theatre, or music, was _strange_. If he didn’t know any better he could have sworn there were flowers growing inside him their vines pressing against his mouth so that they could bloom in the presence of the angel. The flowers were love and affection, and though he’d experienced them for millennia their strength would sometimes catch him off guard and he felt compelled to plant a kiss on those celestial lips.

_And sometimes more than that-we’re getting there._

“Aziraphale?” The angel’s gaze swung up to meet his and dabbed his mouth with the napkin. “Would you…”

The words were dragged back in. _Now’s not the right time for that question._ Crowley scrambled for something else he could ask as he watched Aziraphale wait oh so patiently. “Would you…like…to go to Malta? Or Tahiti?”

Joy burst in his chest as the angel’s eyes lit up like fireworks. “In…January? I know you love Christmas and honestly January is a sodding month.”

 _Satan did I rush through that like an awkward teen._ He wanted to giggle at the absurdity of whole thing. They’d been friends for over 6000 years, but now that they were going on a different level he was…giddy.

Aziraphale looked puzzled for an instant before smiling beatifically which helped him realize that he had a massive grin on his face. Angel reached out across the table taking one of Crowley’s hands in his. The sensation of flowers suddenly bolted to new heights as the divine cheerfulness seeped from Aziraphale into his hand and traveled through the rest of his body.

“I would love that!” Those blue eyes were actually glittering... _Hell help me_. “Although I’m surprised you suggested Tahiti; I heard people refer to it as Heaven on Earth. Honestly my dear I didn’t think you’d like such a place.”

 _As long as it’s not actually Heaven it’s perfectly fine_. Crowley offered the gorgeous, platinum haired principality the most wicked smile he could summon. “Ahh…Heaven’s overrated.”

Aziraphale scowled at the all too familiar gleam he knew was in his eyes before turning back to his food with a sense of urgency. Crowley pointed it out to him at which his angel started chuckling. “It’s...it’s just I’m curious!”

Mirth was turning his eyes into bright blue topazes.

“I could tell there were three books in that box! And-my dear- I’m so very curious to see what they are. One sounded particularly old.” The gears in Crowley’s mind shifted as he processed what he’d just said. “How the bloody Heaven can you tell how old a book is by how it sounds?” Aziraphale then went off on a lecture on how one develops finely tuned senses on all things related to books, especially after more than two centuries. His gestures and expressions became exceptionally animated.

_I love you_ , Crowley thought as he engaged Angel; one remark here, a pun there, just so that he could continue watching Aziraphale express his passion forgetting that he hadn’t finished his scone.

\-------

It had just turned 10 PM when they strolled into the bookshop. They’d spent the day in Brighton soaking up the warmth before autumn made its way in.

Crowley’d meandered around looking for shells or a beautiful pebble while doing his best not to get wet. He’d returned with a couple to find that Aziraphale had built a sand castle reminiscent of Camelot.

As Crowley approached his angel looked up at him with a nostalgic smile. Over the picnic they’d shared stories of what they’d had done and the crazy things they saw while they’d both donned armor calling themselves knights. After the sun had set Aziraphale had laid next to him as he pointed out all the constellations and they’d talked about the stars so softly a human could mistake it their words for the rustling of grass.

That gentleness stayed with them as Aziraphale put his jacket on the stand as Crowley swooped into the backroom. He grinned at the flash of red and black before chasing after it. Love and awe rose like the tide as he came upon Crowley. His demon held the package in his hands like a human would present an offering before an altar. Crowley’s eyes glittered as he took in the angel’s cheerful curiosity. “Happy One Week Aziraphale.” Crowley’s wings unfurled when he grabbed the box enclosing the pair. Each caress from them sent a shiver down his spine; it felt like warm, black silk trailing across his skin.

_This is better than sitting in the chair._ The urge to rush his hands through those feathers was damn near impossible to resist. _Open the present first, then Crowley._ The box had been enveloped by silk dyed jet on the outside with a fiery interior. _It’s definitely you my dear._ He tossed the cloth towards his desk. He took a moment to look up at those serpentine eyes brushing a couple of night sky feathers with a hand before opening the gift.

“Dearest!” Aziraphale stammered looking at the books. _I was right! There are three…and oh Crowley!_ He kissed him fiercely pouring all the joy he’d ever felt into every motion. After a while they broke apart upon which they made for the bedroom in Aziraphale’s upstairs flat with the books in hand.

\----------

_They read the Roman historical text first or, more accurately, the principality read while Crowley alternated between practically attacking the angel with his kisses and relaxing beside him. Currently Crowley looked at Aziraphale like he was the most beautiful thing in all of Creation. Eventually Aziraphale decided that doing something with Crowley was better than reading. You go do that._ Orabas pulled away from the vision as he lay in the hot spring thousands of kilometers away. He relished the sensation of hot water that actually _cleaned_. In Hell the only hot water available was used to torture some of the innumerable human souls. Orabas rushed a hand through his long hair that pooled around him like a vast spill of ink. _The Delivery Man will be getting the letter for the States soon…he really deserves a promotion after this._

He turned his attention to the Seraph trying to relax on the opposite end. After a while Zerakiel looked up with wide eyes.

“I’d like to attend a wedding that’ll happen a month from now,” Orabas announced much to the Seraph’s apparent confusion. “Neither of them has proposed yet, but they will. Ahh Heaven who am I kidding? They already are…”

“Marriage?” Zerakiel pipped up, the radiance of their smile lighting up the bathhouse like noon daylight. “Wonderful! “

The divine happiness was abruptly eclipsed by grey swirls of doubt. “What about the letter? The Delivery Man…He’s reliable, but the other one is so a stormy variable.”

“It’s convincing Seraph,” Orabas reassured them before glancing skeptically at his mechanical wings. They were made of a demonic metal dyed with substances most humans would find repulsive. The darkness of the top of the wings was the stuff of nightmares, but melted seamlessly into the burnt copper of the feathers. _Beautiful, functional, but so blessed uncomfortable!_ He'd only worn them once 6000 years ago and only then because Satan himself insisted he try on the wings he'd made for him. He squashed the bitterness that'd wanted to roar back to life at the memory of what happened to his real ones. Orabas turned his attention to the slew of keys by Zerakiel’s elbow. _Surely one of those is for a car...we have a car right?_

“Want to drive cross country? All the way to London?"


	4. Across the Pond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has nightmares after which Aziraphale comforts him leading to morning bliss. Elsewhere, the Delivery Man gets notice of his next job and across the pond a new figure unknowingly gets a glimpse of what's been going down in the United Kingdom.

Aziraphale looked across at the curled up form and smiled. Sometime during the early morning Crowley’d turned into an impressive onyx scaled snake with a ruby belly. He was curled around the angel and licked Aziraphale’s hands in his sleep. Tranquility permeated everything in the flat, not even archangels and demonic dukes could break it (fortified by the whooping number of wards that Anathema had helped put up).

Crowley groaned in his sleep, or at least he thought it was a groan though he wasn’t entirely certain if it was possible. Aziraphale began caressing the snake’s head admiring how the sunlight reflected off the scales. How many queens and kings would yell at the jewelers complaining that their jewels were shabby compared to their predecessors’? It’s a good thing they never saw Crowley in snake form or they would’ve chased after him trying to make him into a pet or worse!

He’d never understood Crowley’s fascination with snakeskin shoes. It had confused him…once he’d asked Crowley if he had made the shoes himself at which Crowley had merely smirked. Several minutes passed before the snake started to squirm frantically accidentally constricting him a couple times. A bizarre keening noise escaped the snake’s mouth which was slowly developing red lips.

“Crowley!” His rib cage threatened to shatter under another powerful vice grip as the transformation neared completion. The pressure diminished when slender hands cupped his face.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley’s voice sounded like it was coming out of a river polluted with bad memories and sharp stones. “Azir-you’re okay! You’re okay!”

_What on Earth?_ The next thing Aziraphale knew Crowley was hugging him-or rather trying to crush him into his body. A shudder raced through the now human body just as Aziraphale registered that his shoulder was wet and burning. _What the Devil_? Aziraphale furrowed his brow in bewilderment when he reached out finding that the pillow and patches of the blanket were soaked. Then it hit him like a punch from Gabriel.

_Ohhh…ohh my dear. What’s wrong_? His heart was tugging as if it sought to escape. Crowley was crying. Last time Aziraphale’d seen him sob was during World War 2. They’d found a scattering of bodies in the wreckage from the latest bombing…Crowley had let out a scream-if it could be called that. It sounded like it had been forced out of the mouth of a soul in the ninth circle of Hell. This is near as bad!

Crowley’s shoulders quaked as the grief died down glacially. His nails had left rips in the angel’s nightgown and they still dug into him though not as punishingly as before. “…blessed….cursed…fire..”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows as Crowley continued to hiss out curses more scorching than the last. _Is he…really having nightmares about the fire_? For all Aziraphale knew he hadn’t had a nightmare since last weekend when he’d invited Aziraphale up to his flat. He hadn’t talked about it afterwards, they’d been more stressed about Agnes Nutter’s last prophecy and switching bodies. But something had happened when the bookshop had burned down; Crowley had nightmares about fire and then they had gone to a café with a fireplace he’d demanded that they’d sit at the table farthest from it.

“I can’t lose you…” Crowley’s voice was cracked from carrying a heavy grief. He peeled his face out of Aziraphale’s chest his golden snake eyes were telescopes to wounds abyss deep and with echoed pain as bad as the pits.

“Crowley? Crowley it’s…I’m fine! You’re not going to lose me!” The high pitch in his voice echoed the ache in his heart’s chambers. Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s head to emphasize his words. “You are _NOT_ going to lose me. I’m _NOT_ going to lose you. We will _NOT_ lose each other.”

Crowley nodded his head, weakly at first then became more determined. His unblinking eyes seemed to want to grip Aziraphale so he never went out of sight.

Slowly his hands started dancing across Aziraphale’s face and shoulders before ember hot lips met their arctic spring counterparts. Aziraphale’s hands traced Crowley’s body starting on his back before coming to his collarbone; Crowley’s whole body was smoldering. Aziraphale smiled as he breathed gently on the demon’s skin extinguishing the heat before something could burst into flame. Suddenly Crowley wrapped himself around the angel rolling until he was on top bestowing kisses all along Aziraphale’s body. As Time moved slower-like honey during an eighteenth century winter-their wings unfurled. Sunlight caught Crowley’s wings revealing an opalescent glitter that clashed with the golden sheen of the angel’s wings as they wrapped around the entwined couple. 

Several hours of ecstasy raced by before they settled down. Aziraphale had led Crowley to the claw foot tub he kept in his bathroom that was, miraculously, large enough to fit them both comfortably. He found it endearing how the demon’s eyes fluttered as the principality massaged shampoo into his copper curls. Pleasure stirred in his low in his chest at each of his demon’s sighs as his fingers graced his hair pressing against his scalp. _You’re perfection, my dear_. He ceased his caresses long enough to pour water over Crowley’s hair when the sight of the drench auburn hair caused a jolt in his vision. For the briefest of moments he saw the courtroom in Hell. Instead of the sunlight and the pristine tartan curtains of his bathroom he saw green-grey flickering lights and the Please Don’t Lick The Wall signs.

 _What the Hell? What…what just happened there?_ Crowley shifted; his shoulders suddenly tense as he turned to face him.

“Angel?” His eyes were sharp and slightly apprehensive. “Aziraphale? Are you okay?”

Aziraphale felt himself nod despite the queasiness in his stomach that had arrived like a Horseman. “Just…just…” He sat up straighter as he gathered his thoughts together. “I think…I just had a flashback….of my trial in Hell.” Crowley scowled to show what he thought of that.

“A flashback?” The question was laced with skepticism. A wave of demonic power rolled over Aziraphale. _He’s checking the wards. Honestly, my dear it’s fine_. After several seconds Crowley was content with their security spells and pulled in the eldritch energy. His demon was remained scowling for a few minutes until he padded out of the tub conjuring a scarlet towel.

“Hell’ll do that to you,” He said as Aziraphale huffed before he too climbed out grabbing a fluffy ivory towel from the rack. “Stamps itself into your brain.”

_I’ve noticed my dear_. He wasn’t sure what to make of Crowley’s reaction. He knew Hell far better than he did and Aziraphale couldn’t help feeling that Crowley was going to change the subject soon. “How about I make you breakfast?” Crowley asked with a feisty smile. Aziraphale was taken aback his body shaking with silent chuckling. “Since when do you know how to cook?” Angel tried to imagine what Crowley would make for them. Crowley smirked before sauntering into the kitchen Aziraphale trailing after him.

\-----------------------------

The Delivery Man got the phone call at 9 am from his boss. Maud lounged on their couch with a steaming coffee in her hands with a feline smile. He loved looking into her amber eyes which were illuminated by the daylight streaming in. The moment was cut short when the supervisor explained his next task.

“A letter?” He asked confusion performing acrobatics in his mind. “That’s it? And it’s due-all the way in…Wesconsen? Huh?”

His boss clarified the address. “You’re getting a month’s paid vacation after this delivery-that…and _a raise 15 percent_! Orders come from the top and it’s apparently something special. Letter’s a hundred years old!”

The Delivery Man learned a week ago that were stranger things than a century old letter that was destined for Wisconsin. The rewards were pretty promising. A raise of 15 percent… _just to delivery one letter? Important indeed_.

“Yeah?” He wanted to make sure he had the instructions down correctly.

“Yep!” His boss assured him; he could almost imagine their satisfied smile. “You still have the weekend. Come in to pick up the letter on Monday. It’s supposed to be delivered…” A rattle followed-by what sounded like-several pens rolling across a table. “By 7 pm Thursday.”

_That’s unusually specific for a super old letter_. His thoughts tried to return the deliveries he made last week, but found that they wouldn’t budge from the background.

“I’ll get there on time,” He said with a grin. He heard a certain pleasure in being assured of a job well done when his boss told him to have a good weekend before clicking off. Maud came up from behind to encircle her arms around his torso. He turned to find her smiling at him with a mix of love and fiery giddiness. He kissed her for a while before breaking apart. “Let’s make some omelets. After this delivery we’ll go to the Ritz. Have a celebratory dinner, ehh?”

Maud planted a ferocious kiss on his lips. “You could take me damn near anywhere.”

She grabbed his hand leading him to their kitchen where they began sorting out the eggs, vegetables, and a slew of spices.

\----------------------------------

Dawn stretched out onto Lake Monona turning the water into a canvas of rose and sunflower yellow. Her eyes took it all in with a steaming cup of coffee in hand and-surprisingly-a handful of people milled about looking more awake than she felt. Things were weird. Weirder than a balloon filled with fourteenth century coins. _No one seems to remember. Atlantis for Heaven’s sake was real! The Japanese were freaking out about a….a kraken_? So many things were changing and the UK was practically flaring.

Something had shifted since the previous weekend and she couldn’t figure it out. All she knew was that it was far bigger than anything else in the world. In this world. Her senses had been abruptly blunted when she was twelve, but she knew better than some and worse than others that there was more going on with this planet. Stuff going on in the backrooms as it were. The young woman sipped her coffee watching the lake turn into a pale gold while doing her best to ignore the doves and increasing number of people. Silva Asteri Martin gave up on containing her bubbling concerns and frustration hoping for some sign, something. She let her attention wander as tranquility settled around her. _There we go._

_People moved like they were wadding through of a river of molasses their conversations vibrating in the air. If she looked closer she could follow each word to the ripples they would create, what actions would be caused. Hell she could, if she managed to hold on to it long enough, see a whole sequence unfold. Come on, come on. Something to do with Atlantis or whatever the fuck it was. Find a connection, find a line to it, or at least something next to it. All the cords remained local and nothing else was coming up. Time could only be sluggish for so long._

_Ehhh_ … Fear gripped her stomach when she felt something…or someone watching her. Silva shot out of her chair her coffee cup turning into a lukewarm, caffeinated rocket. She searched the few faces around her; a couple openly watched her wondering if she was going to put on more entertainment while others were perturbed. They’re gone. Silva huffed as she scooped up the dented thermos before trudging towards the downtown.

The colors of dawn were giving away to indigo. Even in the city there were reminders that Fall was in progress; the buildings did little to guard the citizens from the brisk breeze and more than a few people were sporting heavy jackets while sipping pumpkin spice lattes. Words, actions, even the expressions of the people she walked by washed over like water on ducks…rrrrrriiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnggggggggg.

Silva paused in her stride. There-in front of her was a coin announcing quite proudly to the world that it was a British 1 pound. Interesting. She bent down to pick it up, but once she did things got even more interesting. Mostly because she was longer in Madison, or even in the US for that matter. What the fuck is going on? She stood in an expanse of greenery that was surrounded on all sides by European architecture. Families with children strolled on groomed paths with ice cream, a group of teens were packing up their band instruments, and sitting in a bench some distance away were two… _I guess they’re well dressed_ -men talking. Silva frowned trying to figure how this day could get any weirder. _What the hell is he wearing?? God help me._

“-collar?” The tall ginger one wearing almost all black asked incredulously.

“Tartan’s stylish!” The platinum haired one countered. Silva wanted to laugh; he was dressed like some merry scholar from the late nineteenth century.

They talked some more in low tones and Silva was about to walk off in search of someone who would lend her a mobile when they said something that couldn’t possibly be true.

“-I made Archangel Michael miracle me a towel!” The old fashioned one giggled like bells smiling at the redhead who cackled.

_What_? She stared at them with such an intensity that it amazed her they hadn’t felt it until she felt something else of import needing her attention. She glanced down the pavement where a well-dressed man stooped to pick up a coin just as the redhead asked the other if he was ready to leave the garden.

_BAM_! Something sucked her in and the next thing she knew she was back in Madison with a coin in her hand. Only…on one side there was an angel and on the other… _is a snake_? Silva was shaking like the leaves unease clenching her stomach. That had never happened before… _or did it actually happen? No it did_.

She turned around to go back to her flat trying to keep her cool-or at least not run like a demon out of Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! Yes the longest chapter so far. I definitely went on a writing spree with this one and looking forward to writing the next one which will show off Crowley's cooking skills which were refined by a certain chef.   
>  I had to bring in Madison, WI which is super close to Spring Green where the House on the Rock is. If you don't watch American Gods which was also written by Neil Gaiman House on the Rock is where an important scene is held and they actually filmed there.   
>  I introduced this OC earlier than I originally planned, but I thought it would be fun to get an outsider's perspective on the ineffable couple and their conversations.


	5. Chef Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley cooks brunch for Angel

More things were flying in Aziraphale’s kitchen than in Heaven as Crowley sliced, diced, and whipped ingredients into miracle pans.

If someone had asked him just a five hours ago if Crowley could cook he would’ve laughed…Crowley could cook, but he’d have never called the results _food._

 _My dear you would have me eating my words,_ Aziraphale thought as the miraculously enlarged stove took on another occupant. Aromas of egg, milk, and several herbs wafting through the air told him it was scrambled eggs. Angel inhaled the scent as it joined with the others; scents flowing from lusciously golden crêpes, a vast assortment of fresh fruit presented on a glittering crystal platter, and a cream that was still settling in the bowl. _When did he learn how to cook?_

“Crowley…where on Earth did you learn how to cook?” Aziraphale asked when Crowley turned his attention to the cream. “And _when?”_

Crowley took the bowl holding the fluffy cream before swinging around to grin at him. It was a truly beautiful picture: the bright sunlight turned his copper hair to a radiant fire that complemented his black garments all the while highlighting the food like it was on display case. Aziraphale could see something in that wily mind spark causing those golden serpentine eyes to gleam with chaotic glee. He took a spatula to whip the contents even further, but his eyes refused to leave him.

“I took a class several years back.” His grin grew wider then crossed his gangly and- _so damn seductive_ -legs.

Aziraphale rose his cup of tea to his lips as he waited for Crowley to divulge further details. Crowley’s grin grew so mischievous at this point he distantly wondered if he’d been the inspiration for _Alice in Wonderland_ ’s Cheshire Cat.

“Yeah…. _good times_ those were,” Crowley said just as Aziraphale took a sip. “Spent a summer with Gordon Ramsssey, ever heard of him?”

“Wwwwhhheeww!” Aziraphale sputtered as his reaction had turned the process of tea drinking into tea spouting. He must have made quite the picture because Crowley started chuckling like a demonic snake making off with Great Britain’s Crown Jewels.

Aziraphale took in his tea stained morning outfit before shooting a glare at the chuckling demon. Crowley registered the look as he composed himself.

He miracled the bowl to levitate beside him before leaning into the angel. Crowley’s hands raced across his chest with the slightest orange glow evaporating the tea and-somehow-clearing away the stains. “Yeaahhh…I was taught by _Chef Ramsey_. Well…sort of. I mean…I _did_ learn _something things_ over the past 6 millennia. I taught him some stuff too.”

Aziraphale gapped at him. _How in the world did this turn out?_ It was one of the most out of the blue things Crowley had ever told him. _And that covers_ a lot _of area._

“Gordon Ramsey?! Taught _you_ how to cook?” Crowley smiled like an imp before going back to his previous spot taking the bowl back into his hands and stirring. “How on _Earth_ did that go? I mean…you’re…you’re rather…well mischievous and…what did you…”

Aziraphale was in a situation he’d never found himself in often. It happened a few times; first time was just before the Great Flood, the second the bloody Spanish Inquisition, the third was when Crowley had rescued his books during the church bombing in WW2, and the fourth time was Crowley telling him he’d been a student under one of the most famous chefs. He was at a loss for words.

Crowley’s mouths opened to say something, but his attention turned towards the scrambled eggs which were getting crisp.

“Wasn’t hard. The man creates a downright storm of temptation and high grade hair-tearing frustration,” Crowley said as he examined the eggs before taking them off the stove and onto a pad to cool. “All those souls lining up to be his students and the things he says to them. It sparks something in them and in the viewers of his show. Ahhhh…Angel if only you could see sin swirl around like I do. Whole scenario is a maelstrom of emotions.”

“Yes, but how did you become a student of his? How..When?” Aziraphale asked the bewilderment was slowing down into gentle confusion as he tried to imagine all the scenarios that could’ve occurred.

Crowley turned back to him while he allowed the scrambled egg concoction to cool normally. “Back in…2004.”

He grinned magnificently then. “I mean really _Hell’s Kitchen_? Who do you think inspired the name? I knew there was too much potential for some low grade evil to pass up the occasion so I got myself in. It took a couple demonic miracles, but it worked and voilà I was in.”

“We stayed friends…well in a matter of speaking. I showed him some recipes that I’d picked up over the years. A few had been from Rome; I showed him how to make those oysters you’d kept raving about, and he taught me how to do some of the finer, more modern techniques.”

His chest felt-fluttery when Aziraphale smiled at the thought. Heaven, he always felt like he was going to burst into flames and fly away every time Angel smiled. Crowley knew their minds were both traveling back to Rome when Aziraphale had taken him to Petronius’s “restaurant”. _A restaurant of limbs entwined, orgasms, and those blessed oysters._

He hadn’t cared for the oysters themselves, but he’d certainly appreciated watching Aziraphale gulp them down in one of the most tempting ways possible.

Crowley quickly turned back to the feast he’d made. Aziraphale seemed to have sensed his thoughts because he leapt up from table to get plates and silverware.

_Of course,_ Crowley smiled at Aziraphale’s selection of pearlescent plates, tartan cloth napkins, and the silverware…the bloody handles were in the shape of angel wings. He watched as his angel made a set up for two arranging the assortment of utensils, platters, and the rest with such perfection it would put the Savoy to shame. _Most Aziraphale thing I’ve seen yet._

The demon gathered what plates he could carry and levitated the rest to the suddenly vast table before darting back to the kitchen to scoop the angelically fluffy cream into a china bowl.

Once everything was set and they were seated Aziraphale had taken some of the eggs, two crêpes topped with the cream, and an assortment of fruit some of which he remembered quite fondly.

He peeled the skin of one of the lychees before popping it into his mouth with a sigh of pleasure.

“-Delicious!” Aziraphale remarked before diving into one of their times together. “Do you remember? When we travelled to Angkor Wat? I think it was…” He closed his eyes trying to recall the year “about 750 years ago? You tried to tempt the Hindus there and I-I was a _very_ good practitioner of medicine.”

Crowley remembered then winced. “Ahh yeah Angel. The locals ended up tempting _me.”_

Aziraphale smiled with a just a hint of a bastard slipping through and for a while they ate in silence.

Crowley ate a crêpe, but preferred the eggs. They really were divine with the Italian spices and slivers of peppers for the spicy levels to be _just right._ In no time at all his plate was clean. He didn’t mind eating, but if Crowley was being honest with himself (which in this case he was) the real treat was watching his lovely angel devour the food he’d made.

Angel had hummed when he’d tasted the eggs before beaming a radiant smile at Crowley, but it wasn’t until he got to the crepes that Crowley was truly coming apart at the seams. At the first bite his precious angel moaned appreciatively while his eyes fluttered.

_Someone take me, he looks like he’s having an orgasm just from eating the food I made….oh Angel._

Crowley stared entranced as Aziraphale polished off the first one then sipping his tea before starting in one on the next one. The demon smiled as he watched the angel scoop even more cream onto the next bite. It was too much, even for him and left a perfect oval of white fluff on the side of his lips. Before Aziraphale could raise his napkin Crowley swooped in licking it off before settling in for a deep kiss.

“-Hmmm ee teek it….” His angel murmured as their tongues twined around each other’s before breaking apart. Crowley was breathless and horny as hell.

“What was that?”

“I was _trying_ to say it seems you take a great pride in your cooking skills.”

“Angel…I take _great pride in several of my skills.”_ He nipped at the angel’s neck before plunging back into his seat.

“ _Really?_ I wasn’t aware of that.” Crowley’s grin grew; Aziraphale being sarcastic was rare and every moment of it was more valuable than the silver watches he had. “Now my dear, let me finish this wonderful breakfast that you made and _thennnn….”_

Crowley’s pulse quickened in excitement.

“…I’ll read the letters I got today then a book and _then_ you can show me these skills that you’re so looking forward to applying to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you to the entire GO fandom for inspiring this scene! You guys are awesome!
> 
> Major plot overhaul in sight. I realized a little too late I dug myself into a pit so I'm going to dig myself out and considerably shorten the story. It was headed towards Games of Thrones excessiveness.  
> Probably not going to complete this for a while, if ever, since no one's commented and my series and original novel are going to be taking up a lot more of my time.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my very first Fanfic so please be patient with me as I figure things out. Also please let me know what you think of it so far.


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